


Happy Birthday!

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asks for an unorthodox birthday present; an old plot, but a good one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday!

 

 

  
It was one of those Sherlock moments that simply made no sense as it was happening, but when John went over it in his head later it was absolutely perfectly reasonable.

John came down from his room in his usual half-awake state and automatically started fixing coffee and toast. Sherlock shouted that he would just have tea, so he put the kettle on for that as well. Always on autopilot in the morning, he ended up making himself tea also and then glanced down at his tray in confusion when he realized he had two cups instead of one for himself. Sherlock took his teacup from the tray and smirked at John knowingly.

“Tired this morning, John?”

“Apparently,” John sighed, taking up the coffee first. A bit of extra caffeine wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s my birthday today and I want a present,” Sherlock informed him after John had taken a few sips, “I think that’s reasonable since I usually don’t ask for one.”

John blinked a moment, and then nodded, “Sure, although I might point out that I’d have gotten you one in years past if I’d _known_ it was your birthday.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied succinctly, leaving John to sigh in frustration.

“Well, what do you want then?” John asked, but Sherlock only squirmed uncomfortably, “Well?”

“It’s not something I can ask for… I’m not sure I should have it in the first place. No,” Sherlock bolted to his feet, spilling his tea and practically fleeing the room, “Forget I asked!”

John sat there, perfectly flummoxed, and wondered why on Earth Sherlock – greedy, self-centered, sodding bastard that he was – felt embarrassed about a gift he might want. That sent John’s mind spinning around and trying to use Sherlock’s own deductions against him. What would Sherlock Holmes be humiliated asking for?

John ended up staring down at a pad of paper and chewing on a pen as he tried to work it out.

-narcissistic  
-no privacy concerns (nudity, possessions)  
-attractive  
-just below middle aged (no apparent age related fears/concerns)  
-scientific  
-highly intelligent (genius)  
-poor social skills (sociopath?)  
-little to no sexual history  
-little to no medical concerns (history of drug use and frequent minor injuries)  
-history of drug use  
-never mentioned birthday before  
-

John stared at his list and then got up and knocked on Sherlock’s door. No answer. Typical. He should add _impolite_ and _arsehole_ to the list.

“Sherlock? Have you had a relapse? Because if you have, you can tell me. I won’t judge. I’ll get you the help you need and I’ll be right here for you after.”

No answer. The git.

“I’ll visit you in rehab if they let me, too.”

No answer. The _bastard_.

“Sherlock say something or I’m coming in.”

“I haven’t relapsed, doctor, but your concern is admirable.”

John huffed a breath out in a mixture of relief and frustration.

“Well, whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m your mate, Sherlock. I’d like to think I’m your best friend.”

Sherlock’s door opened slowly and he leaned against the doorframe, looking sullen and nervous.

“You are that,” Sherlock admitted as though it were a crime.

“Well… good, then. Come on out and talk to me, yeah?”

“I’d rather not. I’d really rather we just forgot about it.”

John thought over his list and tried to hazard a guess, “Is it sexual?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed: “Yes.”

“Is it illegal?”

Sherlock gave him a confused look and frowned: “No.”

“Is it someone I know?”

More awkward squirming, and wasn’t _that_ just odd to see on Sherlock effing Holmes?

“Yes,” He relented finally, after giving his room a longing glance over his shoulder.

“Is there a clue in your room?” John asked, trying to hide his smirk.

“… Yes. Yes there is,” Sherlock suddenly opened his door fully, a look of relief on his face, and waved his hand in apparent invitation to search it.

John stepped in a bit nervously. He’d only ever done this with Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson, and then they’d been looking for drugs. He’d quite carefully avoided anything that looked too personal, though he’d seen Lestrade searching through his collection of dirty magazines once.

_“They’ll hide stuff between the pages, knowing most people won’t look out of respect.”_

Lestrade had scolded his politeness, but now this was the first place John looked. He pulled the magazines out from between Sherlock’s mattress and raised his eyebrows at the content. That they were gay magazines wasn’t a shock, but he was rather surprised they weren’t something more… _geeky._ Did they make geeky porn? Something like _Big Glasses and Shapely Asses_ , or _Ladies in Libraries_ , or _Kinky Cosplay;_ those were the sorts of things John could see Sherlock wanking to. A Han Solo pin-up posing on the top of the Millennium Falcon with his gun tip stroking his erect cock would have made a great deal more sense than a magazine full of muscle-bound cock stroking Neanderthals. John paused a moment, a bit surprise visualizing that didn’t shock him, and then decided it was because he was a closet geek.

“Am I close, at least?” John asked, “Getting warm?”

“That isn’t fair, John. No one tips me off,” Sherlock snarked, stubbornly crossing his arms.

John sighed and thumbed through the magazines. A photo fell out and he scooped it up, gaped at it, then stuffed everything into Sherlock’s arms and fled the room. In fact, he fled the entire flat and headed straight for the Met.

Lestrade was in his office eating a bagel when John stomped in and slammed the door behind him.

“You knew. You knew this entire time and you said nothing.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that. I’m guessing Sherlock’s done something outrageous I should have predicted?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s his birthday,” John stated, starting to pace despite being breathless from his dash into the office.

“Oh, I’m innocent! He’s never told me, either!” Lestrade said, throwing up his hands and grinning at John’s antics.

“Not _that!_ He wants _me_ for his birthday present!” John raged.

Lestrade gaped, then frowned and shifted uncomfortably: “I never thought he’d get up the gumption to actually _ask_.”

“You did know!”

“I found a few pictures of you in his room once,” Lestrade stated with a sigh, “When I confronted him about them he claimed he legitimately got them from old girlfriends and that there was nothing creepy going on. Said he just looked at them, not that I believed that part.”

John recalled the pictures being taken, nodded, and then flopped down in a chair.

“He didn’t even ask or tell me, he had me _guess_. I had to _deduce it_ , Greg.”

“Well that’s a bit obnoxious.”

“A bit, yeah.”

There was a long silence and Lestrade stared him down quietly.

“John, he needs you – as a friend!” He held up his hand when John went to protest, “He’s _better_ with you. You have no idea what it was like before you came along. I’m not saying to go home and let him bugger you, but for the love of all things sane don’t let this ruin your friendship. You must have had an unrequited crush at one point in your life, yeah?”

John nodded, staring out Lestrade’s window rather than at him.

“Well, wasn’t it awful?”

John nodded again. He felt speechless and a bit like a teen in a principal’s office. Why was _he_ in the wrong instead of Sherlock?

“Think about it that way; all these years living with you and never so much as touching your hand. He’s had those pictures since the second time I searched your flat after you moved in. After ‘The Woman’ business?”

“Damn, back then?” John asked, making eye contact again in surprise.

Lestrade nodded.

“That makes it nearly six years. _Six years_ that he’s been mooning over me?” John stammered, feeling a bit flattered.

Lestrade nodded again.

“He’s been a gentleman, yeah? Sherlock wouldn’t know what to do with a bloke even if he tried. Trust me on that,” Lestrade chuckled, “He tried to throw himself at me once during a _real_ drugs bust back before you two met. He knew what to say and how to look, but when I decided to take him up on it just to teach him a lesson he turned into a blushing virgin and fled the room. Never tried that shit with me again.”

John gaped at him and Lestrade laughed outright: “Relax! I wouldn’t have taken it far at all. I just gave him a bit of something to look at to see what he’d do with it. Ran, he did, and hopefully didn’t try that with a less scrupulous officer.”

John sighed and rubbed at his face: “You think he’s still a virgin? I mean- he’s not exactly _young_ is he?”

“No, but he’s not so old, either. John, Sherlock hasn’t dated. Not once. Not since I’ve known him, not since you have. Far as I’m aware you’re the first person off of a magazine he’s glanced at. You’re _special,_ John. You get him. You work with him, or around him as necessary.”

“I…” John thought a moment, “Do you really swing both ways, or was that just messing with Sherlock, too?”

“Feeling homophobic?” Lestrade asked with a scowl.

“No, I’m asking for a reason.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a ponce on occasion, why?” Lestrade asked, still sounding defensive.

“Because in the nature of how my day started out pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, I’d like to run an experiment on you.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows rose and he thought about it a moment: “It would be kinder. If you tried it with him first and then panicked and ran it would be disastrous.”

“Exactly.”

Lestrade stood up and went to his office window, closing the blinds and then locking his door.

“How do you want me?” Lestrade asked, leaning on the edge of his desk.

“That’s fine.”

John stood up, slipped his arms around the taller detective’s neck and leaned in to press their lips together. He felt nothing, but then he hadn’t expected to be panting over him. The important part was that he didn’t feel like bolting.

“I think you’d better touch me back. Try to do what you think Sherlock might,” John requested calmly.

Lestrade snorted, “Sherlock would probably lie still and let you do the touching.”

“I don’t think he would,” John said with a shake of his head, “The man’s a scientist, remember?”

Lestrade nodded and they spent a few minutes groping each other awkwardly. Lestrade was hard, so John palmed his erection nervously, but he truly did not want to continue past discovering that he wasn’t going to retch or run screaming from the room. He leaned back and gave Lestrade a guilty look.

“I don’t mean to just work you up and then stop, but…”

“Don’t be daft, go on then. I’ll take care of this myself. Sherlock’s waiting.”

“Thanks. I mean that. You’re… Bloody hell, I’m shutting up before I say something stupid,” John blushed.

Lestrade’s laughter followed him out of the office and he hurried back to Baker Street.

The flat was in shambles. An apparently furious Sherlock Holmes had suffered a full tantrum and thrown things _everywhere_. Many things were broken, including several beakers from his precious chemistry set. John negotiated the broken glass and glance worriedly at where Sherlock was curled up on the couch with his back to him. The man’s feet were bare, as John had dreaded, but they didn’t appear cut. He didn’t respond to John entering the room, so he decided the mess took first priority and swept up the glass before joining Sherlock on the couch. He took the opportunity to do a bit more snooping, too, and came away with several answers.

“Look, I’m sorry I left. I was just shocked,” John explained, giving Sherlock’s ankle a squeeze and sneakily double-checking his feet for damage, “Did you hurt yourself doing all this?”

“Are you moving out?”

“No, but I’m not entirely sure I can give you what you want. What _specifically_ do you want?”

“… A kiss?”

John’s head spun. He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected something utterly non-sentimental from Sherlock. Something along the lines of _felatio_ or _sexual intercourse_ and then a sarcastic comment about how _obvious_ that should have been. Yet here he was, sounding vulnerable and hopeful and John was suddenly worried that he was playing with fire. How would he have felt if his crushes had let him kiss them and then just acted as though nothing had happened? What if he’d _lived_ with them?

“Sherlock… and I’m not asking this because of your request, but because I’m your friend and I’m concerned this is hurting you… do you _want_ me to move out? Is it too much having me here every day?”

“I… I think I’d suffocate without you here,” Sherlock said softly, his voice pained, and curled up on himself even tighter.

This was so utterly _not Sherlock_ that John was half convinced it wasn’t really his true feelings. He was about to stand up and tell Sherlock off for messing about with him when his mind flashed about to so many different scenarios. Suddenly John had an idea of what it must be like to be Sherlock; to have pieces to a puzzle filling his head and then just see them fall into place.

-The pool.  
-The fall.  
-His words on the roof of St. Bart’s.  
-His eyes when he returned.  
-Thousands of glances over years of friendship.  
-The disgust at his dating habits.  
-His blatant attempts to chase said girlfriends off.

_Would it be so bad? Everyone assumes we’re already together, even Harry. We practically_ are _married. Could I do this? For real? Not just for a birthday gift?_

John’s mind flashed forward this time; visualizing waking up next to the man he so greatly admired for years to come. Holding him gently at night, clasping his hand as they ran through London after criminals, smiling into those beautiful eyes as they sparkled while Sherlock worked out his clues.

_Oh, and isn’t_ that _a visual! Now who’s mooning over whom? Am I really that blind?_

John’s cock gave a twitch as one more thought crossed his mind – Sherlock post case and that intense high he had before crashing into food and bed. The way he paced the flat, ranting about his own brilliance and telling John all the details he’d missed or been intentionally left out of. John, following him with his eyes, and muttering praises as the man soaked them up. What if… what if all that lovely energy was spent while riding his…

_Oh, fucking hell, I’m_ hard _for him._

“Sherlock? I… I think I want this. I’m not sure it would work, but I _think_ … I think it would,” John breathed.

Sherlock sat up slowly and turned to face John, his face a careful blank, but that all changed when John leaned back and let him see the throbbing erection he was sporting. Sherlock gave him a shocked, hungry, look; his eyes widened and his pupils dilated, his face flushed, his breath came out in short pants. John was on him in an instant and Sherlock’s legs wrapped around his waist as they frotted together eagerly.

“Oh, gods, why haven’t we done this before?” John moaned. He felt like a teenager again!

“Mmmm, you kept insisting you were straight,” Sherlock pointed out as he tugged John’s jumper off.

“When have you ever had a problem pointing out when I’m wrong?” John asked as he unfastened his own trousers and pushed them down.

Sherlock moaned at the sight of his erection tenting his pants and then struggled out of his dressing gown. John tugged his own pants down before helping Sherlock squirm out of his.

“Lube. We need lube,” John panted as he pressed himself down on top of Sherlock once more, rubbing their bare members together and gasping at the feel. He had no idea a man’s cock could feel so _good_ against his body.

“My bedside table,” Sherlock panted and John struggled to his feet, tugging the detective with him.

They groped and kissed the entire way, snogging like teens and giggling like fools. John pushed Sherlock down onto his own bed and rummaged through his bedside table – inexplicably full of shoelaces and scraps of paper- before uncapping the lube and dropping a generous portion onto his hand. He climbed onto the bed, noting Sherlock’s suddenly shy look, and smiled calmly.

“We can just touch on the outside,” John soothed, reaching towards Sherlock’s twitching cock and stroking his lubricated hand over it.

Sherlock went boneless beneath him and he decided this was best, better not to overwhelm the man. Instead he focused on stroking the foreskin over the head, watching Sherlock gasp in bliss, and then rubbed his thumb around the exposed head on the downstroke. He teased his frenulum and watched his hips buck in excitement. John’s free hand palmed Sherlock’s quickly tightening bollocks, sensing it would all be over soon and mourning the speedy end, but Sherlock suddenly clasped John’s wrists and shook his head.

“More. Inside. I want you _inside_ me.”

“Oh, gods, yes.”

John grabbed more lube and drenched his own cock before soaking his fingers and reaching for Sherlock’s now exposed pucker. The man had grasped his thighs and lifted them for John, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear, excitement, and anticipation. John started slowly, just circling his entrance, but Sherlock was impatient and growled at him to hurry it up. One finger inside, and John was surprised at the feel of his grasping hole. He twisted it until he found the prostate – thank you medical degree – and watched Sherlock gasp and shudder in surprise. He left off it for a moment so Sherlock wouldn’t finish too quickly, slipping in a second finger and stretching him gently. By the time he had three fingers inside Sherlock was stroking his own cock and moaning blissfully as his hips twitched down towards John’s invading digits.

John pulled his fingers free and smiled at Sherlock’s whimper, but quickly had his cock lined up at his entrance. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips and slipped his tongue inside his mouth, distracting him with a slow exploration of both their mouths. Sherlock gripped his biceps and whimpered a bit, but was otherwise still as John slowly sank into his responsive body.

John paused a moment to gasp and catch his breath, willing himself not to come instantly, and Sherlock seemed to need it as well. When he felt Sherlock relax a bit under him and then begin to whimper in need, he pulled out and then thrust shallowly back in.

“Oh, gods!” Sherlock gasped, and John smiled, as he knew he’d found the man’s sweet spot again.

A few more shallow thrusts and then John couldn’t hold back any more, besides Sherlock was too overwhelmed with pleasure to object to John fucking him fast and hard. Sherlock was writhing on the bed beneath him, shouting out in bliss and meeting John thrust-for-thrust.

_He’s fucking himself on my cock! Oh, gods, this is so fucking hot. I’m going to bugger him. Every. Fucking. Day._

John punctuated his thoughts with particularly well aimed thrusts and Sherlock sobbed through his climax, his hot come spraying across both their chests as his cock bobbed between them. John had never seen anything so utterly sexy, and hadn’t even thought it possible to come untouched just from a cock in your arse, but that was all he needed to throw him over the edge. Sherlock’s muscles clamped down and milked every last drop of come from his body as he groaned and ground his hips into Sherlock’s lush arse.

They both collapsed, sweaty and sticky and utterly spent. John pressed a few kisses to Sherlock’s damp neck and collarbone and Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair, petting him as if he were precious to him. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was the future he had never known he wanted until Sherlock had pointed it out.

Finally, John hauled himself up, slipping out of Sherlock’s still twitching hole, and smiled down on him.

“It’s not your birthday,” John teased a bit.

“Sorry, but I think I know my own…”

“I checked your wallet while you were sulking on the couch. It’s not your birthday.”

“Damn,” Sherlock sighed, “You aren’t going to start a fit now, are you, because I really have wanted you for an eternity and this was the first time I’d worked up the courage to…”

“I’m not mad, you git, but aren’t you forgetting something?” John chuckled.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock blinked in confusion.

“I saw the _card_ on the table, too. I know where you got this harebrained idea from, so aren’t you forgetting something? A bit important?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes! Of course!” Sherlock smiled.

John lay down on his back beside Sherlock on the bed and they both smirked up at the ceiling.

“Happy 30th Birthday Vinny!” They called out with a laugh and a wave.

_I’m not blushing. I’m not blushing. Shit! I’m blushing!_


End file.
